


Nostos

by greygerbil



Category: Original Work
Genre: M/M, Married Couple, Pseudo-Ancient Greece, Reunion Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-25
Updated: 2020-07-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 23:06:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25503361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/greygerbil/pseuds/greygerbil
Summary: It has been four years since Agathon has last seen his home and his husband and much has changed in that time.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Returning Sailor Thought Lost at Sea/His Mourning Husband
Comments: 8
Kudos: 106
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	Nostos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MildredMost](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MildredMost/gifts).



The sun was drowning in the sea behind Agathon and clouds were keeping the heavens covered, but atop of Korinna’s End, a dark figure stood holding a torch. Without stars to guide him and with the coastline in shadows, Agathon looked at this flickering dot at as he steered the small ship towards the harbour right to the west of the steep cliff. After all this time, he still knew the waters like the back of his hand – the treacherous current caused by the Ilisius emptying into the sea a little up the coast, the sharp stones at the bottom of Korinna’s End that had ended her life when she’d flung herself off the top after the death of her family in a famine, sometime around the age when Agathon’s great-grandmother would have been a young girl. Whatever else the war had done to the village that was his home, the sight it presented to him when he sailed into the port had remained the same. In fact, the picture of the old wooden runways that lined the harbour, where small fishing vessels were tied with rope, shifting and creaking in a warm wind rippling the sea, was so much like the image he’d called to mind almost every evening for four years that Agathon felt a shiver working up his spine.

He pressed on, adjusting the sail to catch the breeze. It was not the ships that made him sentimental, but the idle fantasy that he would step onto the shore and find everything as it had been the evening when he’d been dragged away, the impossible wish that it would just be like returning after a day’s work. The war between Mylesa and Orikas and their tributaries had ended in a peace treaty, but the battles had been hard-fought while the conflict raged on and even now the skirmishes hadn’t stopped entirely. That, incidentally, was the only reason he was here at all.

Agathon pulled close to a free bit of walkway and threw out a loop of rope around a tall post, pulling the boat in and tying it down before he extinguished the small lantern that dangled from the mast. He was almost loathe to step out on solid ground again. After four years held on dry land, the swaying of the boat under his feet had been its own return home. Of course, it was also the fear that kept him stuck. As long as he was here, things might still be alright. He might walk up the hill and down the path to their olive grove and his husband Thales might be standing there on the slightly crooked ladder he’d built himself, picking olives by hand, looking like a nymph, tall, his limbs long and graceful like the branches of the olive trees and his skin the same colour as their bark, fallen leaves stuck in his unruly hair. Thales would turn at his greeting, the way he had the many times Agathon had returned from a trip at sea, and give him one of his rare toothy smiles before he jumped off the ladder and met him halfway for a kiss.

Slowly, he stepped off the boat. The old boards of the walkway groaned under Agathon’s feet as he walked towards the shore. The old tavern still stood, though the broken, dirtied tiles on its roof had been replaced by fresh red ones and a chunk of the wall was built of new bricks, not yet beaten so hard by the elements. Before Agathon had made it to the door, a woman emerged, carrying a pail. Her long grey curls framed a face Agathon had never seen before. This chased away, finally, the flittering expectation of kisses under the shadows of olives trees. These fantasies had pulled him through the tedious misery of his captivity and in that they had served a purpose, but he had to face reality now.

“Well! You’re new here, sir,” the woman said, halting in her movement. She smiled at him, but he could tell she was guarded.

Agathon reminded himself that he didn’t even know whether his old home was under Mylesian occupation now. Pegae was too small a village as that he could have stopped anywhere and asked what had happened to it in the war. It was perhaps best for him not to be too free with his identity for now, lest he be dragged right back into captivity; and he understood her wariness all too well, too.

Had she lived here before, she surely would have recognised him, and maybe it was good she didn’t, since you never knew who had turned traitor in the war. Agathon had not changed too much: same short, stocky build, tan skin, copper eyes from his mother, fair long hair and thick beard from his northern-born sailor father who had not stuck around to ever meet him. His muscle was leaner since they hadn’t eaten well and in clear water he’d seen his age writ harder in his face, but all in all he looked deceptively similar to the carefree man he had been.

“Not too new. Before the war, I used to come here sometimes on trading ships. It’s been a few years, though.”

That much wasn’t a lie. In his swift little boat, or sometimes standing directly at the helm of trading and military vessels, Agathon had earned his keep helping captains navigate the treacherous waters and transporting goods from and to the big ships that did not fit in the small alcoves of the many tiny harbours that lined the coastline in these parts of the land.

“That figures, then. My husband and me took over the tavern just a couple of years ago. They tell us the old owner, well, he burned when they came for the village, you see.” She shook her head. “We were fleeing ourselves. Let us pray to the gods this peace holds!”

Agathon tried to force a smile, nodded his head. _Your head, it is always in the clouds,_ he heard Thales’ voice say fondly in the back of his skull, as he’d so often admonished him. He’d be right as usual. It seemed Agathon had dreamed, hoped too much when thinking that perhaps Pegae had escaped the carnage.

“You must know the waters well to make it here in the dark,” the woman added, not without suspicion.

“I had a bit of help finding my way. I think there was someone up on Korinna’s End. It surprised me. Used to be people said it was dangerous to stand there, that Korinna’s ghost might push you onto the rocks.”

“Oh.” The woman looked relieved. “That’ll be our watchman. The older villagers claim that, yes, but he says he doesn’t care as long as Korinna’s End allows him to see far and wide over the sea. He will be down in a moment, I’m sure. Boats never escape him.”

A watchman was certainly new. That, too, was something Pegae hadn’t needed before, but after the war he was sure people saw the use of a man who could handle a sword making the rounds every now and then. He only knew what had happened in the outside world from the stories that the new captives had told him over the years, to be fair, but common sense suggested as much. The thought that this watchman would be coming seemed to calm the woman. Apparently, he was good at his job.

“You said they burned the village. How has Pegae fared in the war?” Agathon asked carefully.

“My husband and me came after the worst was over, but there were several raids from inland, I was told. There was also the battle at Mount Igathos – I’m sure you’ve heard of it. The Orikasian army conscripted all men and woman who could fight for miles around to that battle. Then they brought them along for almost a year as reserve troops. They won more than they lost, mind you, but many didn’t make it back.”

When Agathon had been taken away, Thales had been thirty-three years old, a couple years older than himself, but still at a great age to be sent to war.

“Ah, there he comes now,” the woman said, before Agathon could find his tongue again.

Agathon looked up. The harbour was bordered on one side by the rock formation of the cliffs that sharpened to Korinna’s End, on the other side by a thickly wooded hillside, so there was only one narrow road that led from the plains where the village laid down to the harbour. The man who approached was still carrying his torch, sending shadows dancing around him. His torso was covered by an old, scuffed leather cuirass and he wore dull iron greaves and a simple, unadorned pteruges. When he had reached the point where the road met the rocky beach on which the tavern stood, he shifted the torch up and Agathon saw him clearly.

For a fleeting moment, Agathon could only look at the gruesome scars that covered the entire left half of the man’s face. Whoever had slashed at it had narrowly missed his dark eye, but there were a dozen deep furrows, one cutting the left side of his mouth in two. It was there Agathon’s gaze stuck to the well-known shape of his lips, full and heart-shaped and still handsome even if mangled and pulled down in a frown.

They looked at each other in silence. It was Thales – scarred and looking twice the size he used to, thick with muscle and dressed in armour he’d never worn before, but undeniably his husband.

Agathon beamed. Thales just kept staring.

“This man just came here in his boat. He says he’s been around before,” the woman said, looking at Agathon. “Do you know, I forgot to ask your name!”

“It’s Agathon,” Thales said, shaking his head as if he had to get rid of something fixing it in place. “I know him, Myrto. I’ll take care of it.”

“Wonderful. They’re waiting for me in there, so I’ve got to get going. Maybe I will see you around, Agathon. Most everyone ends up drinking here eventually!”

She smiled before she swept past them towards the well that Agathon still remembered was in the copse of trees behind the tavern, but his eyes lost her a second later, returning to his husband. He would have hugged him, but Thales still had the torch in one hand and was clutching the pommel off a notched sword hanging off his belt with the other.

“You came back.”

“Sorry it took so long,” Agathon said, trying for a grin. “I wanted to be here sooner, but you know how life gets sometimes.”

Thales’ lips moved, but with the scar twisting them, Agathon couldn’t tell if it had been for mirth. It used to be that Thales would always roll his eyes at his stupid japes, but hide a smile, anyway.

Thales waved him up the path.

“What happened? The last I heard, the trading ship you were on was captured by Mylesian soldiers – one of the sailors washed up on shore. She fell over board during the fighting. She wasn’t sure if they’d seized or burned the ship…”

“Seized, with the lot of us. Brought us to a small island off the shore of Othanos to keep the farms. I heard they dragged others off for worse, so I guess I got it easy. We worked hard, but they barely bothered us except for a few lashes of the whip when the overseers got bored.”

Thales nodded his head. “Terrible,” he said darkly. “How did you get away?”

“Chance. Parts of the Orikasian and Mylesian fleets had their last stand-off by Othanos. We were usually isolated unless they hauled in the harvest, but a lot of Mylesian soldiers were going on and off the island then.” He smiled. “Me and a few of the other captives stole their boats. I got us out of there with the wind before they had a ship ready to chase us down. I let the others who were on my boat out wherever they wanted to go. Don’t worry, though – I didn’t lead any soldiers here. The ship’s unmarked and no one there even knew my real name or cared where I came from.”

“And you weren’t on the water for four years? I can’t imagine that for you.”

Despite the oddly stiff welcome, Agathon felt his heart expand at that reminder that even this Thales, who looked and acted so differently, still knew him that well.

“Worse torture than the whipping,” he said, chuckling.

Thales looked straight ahead. He was silent again and Agathon pondered the sight of him. Despite being a head taller than anyone, and one half more than Agathon at that, Thales had never before looked imposing. Now, you’d huddle behind him in a fight, or run if he came at you from the other side of the battle.

“I wanted to go and find you,” Thales said, voice heavy with guilt. “I went to Erathos and Olantia to ask for news, but no one had heard anything of your ship. However, if I’d gone off searching for you and you had returned, that might not have helped. Then the war came to us and I still had responsibilities to the people here…”

Agathon wondered how many of those they had lived alongside were still here now, but pushed the thought away for the moment. It was too much for one evening and the one he had always been closest to was still here. Agathon had only moved to Pegae after, on a fateful voyage, he’d met Thales on its shore. An orphan from a young age, used to loneliness, he’d spent his life happily unmoored on the sea, with Thales as his one real haven on land. That didn’t mean he hadn’t learned to like many of the people in the village over the five years he had lived here, though.

“I doubt you would have found me. _I_ barely knew where I was for the first few months. Besides, what could you have done to get me off the island? Or to even get there yourself? We were cut off.”

“Yes, I probably would have failed.”

Thales fingers tightened around the pommel of his sword once more.

“So – the woman called you the watchman,” Agathon continued after a moment of silence.

“They like doing that. Poetic.” Thales frowned. “I’m just a guard. The Orikasian forces built a fort between here and Erathos to watch the countryside and looked for men and women to keep the peace. I was good enough at killing people in the war that they picked me.”

Though his voice was rough and tried to show no affect, Thales gave him a careful sideways look, gauging his reaction. The expression on his face was one of deep exhaustion.

Agathon could only nod his head. He’d been spared such ravages of war. It was difficult to imagine Thales with a bloodied sword in hand. He had always liked sparring and rough-housing with his cousins who lived in the village, but he’d never killed anyone and Agathon doubted he would ever have had his hand not been forced, yet here they were. Agathon wouldn’t judge him for doing what was necessary to survive.

“You’re protecting people here, aren’t you? That’s good.”

“I do what I can. It felt like I should. Besides, the pay doesn’t hurt. Most of the olive grove was burned down and the house did, too. I had to build it back up.” He hesitated, looked up the dusty, unpaved way winding through high grass swaying gently in the breeze. “I apologise. I wish I could give you better news.”

Agathon wanted to tell Thales that it was fine, that it didn’t really matter – and it would have been true –, but they came over the crest of the incline and, further down the road, what Thales had spoken of was plain to see in the fading light of evening. Suddenly, Agathon’s throat was closed and would produce no more words.

The olive grove had been burned from the western side, where it bordered against another steep downward slope. There were only grass and red poppies running up to the newly erected fence now. It was one of the few pieces of solid earth Agathon had ever loved and it was like meeting an old friend with limbs missing to see only seven trees of it left now. The house looked perhaps a little better than it had before, even, but someone had clearly tried to recreate its former structure down to the details, which made it only look more foreign, as without the overgrown wine choking the walls and the door with the unsightly gash that Agathon had always meant to replace, it was plainly not actually his old home. Objects oft-forgotten in his day-to-day life but dearly missed when he’d been taken away – a fibula from his mother, dried flowers Thales had given him on their wedding day, a piece of the oar of the first ship he’d ever rowed by himself – suddenly sprung to mind and then were there incinerated before his eyes. Above all stood a sudden, stark visual of Thales in the ashes and rubble, alone.

His dread must have shown on his face, for Thales looked at him, opened his mouth, but closed it again without speaking and walked briskly ahead instead, every muscle tense.

“You must be starving and tired at that. Let us get inside,” Thales murmured. 

Mutely, Agathon nodded his head and followed.

The layout of the small house was unchanged – three modest wings around a courtyard of sorts, though that was a lot less wild than the old one, with only a few spices and herbs growing in the flower beds were before had stood tall berry bushes and a large fig tree, which had cast a friendly shadow during hot summer days. The entrance opened onto a large area with pillows and carpets on the ground to the right side. One door still led to the kitchen, the other to the bedroom, though they were just a little off in their placing, built only from Thales’ idea of the old house, he assumed. Or was it his own memory that was failing? Had he forgotten so much?

“I will fetch the food,” Thales said, turning to the kitchen after placing the torch in a wall mount.

Agathon was left to look around by himself. The house was emptier than he remembered it, but then, where would Thales have taken the coin to fill it with things, and the will to do so? He’d always been mostly engaged outside with his trees.

He pushed aside the curtain hanging in the bedroom doorway and found there was a simple wooden bed with long legs there, broad enough for two. However, as he pressed his hand down on it, he found the sheets covered in a thick layer of dust. Walking back to the main room, he realised that in the resting area laid an unruly, apparently recently-disturbed tangle of blankets.

Thales moved those away with his foot as he came out of the kitchen bearing bread, cheese, olives, dried figs, a flask of oil and a bottle of wine and cups, laying them out on the ground in the sitting corner. As Agathon lowered himself on the ground, Thales did, too, keeping an arm’s length of distance between them.

“You look like you haven’t eaten lately,” Thales said, glancing at Agathon’s hand. Tendons and bones stood harder there against the skin than they once had.

“If they’d fed us properly, they might have had more costs than we were worth.”

Thales looked slightly ill as he pressed his marred lips into a thin line. The smile fell from Agathon’s face. It didn’t seem like a topic Thales could laugh about, not that he could blame him.

“They still gave us what we needed to keep working, though. Don’t worry, I wasn’t starved,” he said quickly.

“Doesn’t make what happened any better.”

“No,” Agathon admitted.

There was no sugar-coating slavery, though his tendency towards japes sometimes made him try. He understood why Thales didn’t want him to.

They sat in silence as they ate their meal. Agathon saw Thales mostly nursing his cup of wine and ignoring the slab of bread in front of him. Suddenly, Thales sat up straight.

“You came alone...”

The sentence was unfinished, meandering. He looked at Agathon.

“As I said, I had some passengers, but I dropped them off to make their way to their own homes.”

“Will you stay?”

Agathon lowered the bowl of olives he’d claimed and looked at Thales in confusion. “Where else would I go?”

“I figured – four years is a long time. I was not there when you went through that nightmare. If there were someone else you had taken comfort in, I would not blame you, whether you plan to stick with them now or not. You needn’t tell me at all, of course.” Thales took another gulp of wine. “If you plan to stay, that’s good enough for me.”

Though Agathon felt his pride bristle, being suspected of such faithlessness, he couldn’t claim that he hadn’t had similar thoughts. Finding Thales in the arms of another man was still much preferable to finding him dead, and no one could have blamed him for believing Agathon had ended up at the bottom of the sea.

“There wasn’t anyone,” he said easily because it was true. “What about you?”

“Of course not!” Thales snapped. “I stood atop blasted Korinna’s End the last four years every free minute I had and not because I like watching the sea so much.” His shoulders sank. “Foolish, I know. You may just as well have returned by land. But somehow I always imagined that if you weren’t dead, you would come by boat...”

He stopped himself. There were tears welling in his eyes which fell over his cheeks before the last word was spoken. Thales looked surprised before quickly turning away, wiping at his eyes with an abrupt, angry movement of his hand.

Agathon moved over and wrapped his arms around him. He didn’t know if Thales would still care for that, but his ribcage seemed to constrict around his heart at the sight of his husband in tears, which had happened last a good decade ago when his favourite aunt had died and never again afterwards that Agathon knew of.

Thales sat motionless for a moment, but then turned and clung to him and relief flooded Agathon as he gathered him against his chest. Thales’ embrace was desperately tight. Whatever shock or fears had held him in suspension before seemed to crumble.

“This is ridiculous,” Thales muttered into his shoulder. “I should be comforting you. I should have – I should have had our home like it used to be for you to come back to. I don’t even think you returned to the same man. This is all wrong.”

Agathon smiled and rubbed his thumb over the back of Thales’ neck. Perhaps feeling a blooming happiness at seeing his husband so distraught proved he was a bad man, but Thales was worried for him, thinking he might have disappointed him. It was so much better than wondering if Thales had taken a look at him at the harbour and realised that after four years he did not feel the same for Agathon as he had back in the day.

“Nonsense, you’re the same. You worry too much, just like you always have,” Agathon murmured against his ear. “You’re still here and you waited for me. What more could I ask for?”

Thales lifted his head so he could look at Agathon.

“I can’t believe you’re alive,” he whispered hoarsely. “Maybe the Maniae finally got me and I snapped. I’d rather stay mad in that case.”

Agathon toppled him over and crashed their mouths together. The need came as sudden and strong as a spring tide and Thales made an almost wounded noise against his lips before his fingers dug into Agathon’s long hair, palmed the back of his head to press him closer.

Their kiss tasted of sweet wine and tears, a slight tang of salt like sea water. Agathon pushed his tongue into Thales’ mouth, feeling the gash in his lips. He would have to get used to that. He would have time to. He knew he probably kissed clumsily for all his impatience, biting and fucking his mouth with his tongue, but Thales effortlessly matched him, just like he always had.

He wanted to say something more to soothe Thales or give him one of the many sappy speeches he’d put together in their long time apart, but found his head was all empty of words and he was unable to separate from Thales’ mouth for more than a moment to take in air. Meanwhile, Thales had tangled his long legs with Agathon’s and while his torso was still covered by the unyielding leather of his cuirass, the battle skirt left his lower half mostly uncovered now that it had ridden up in the tumble.

As Agathon shoved a hand between their bodies and into Thales’ underclothes, he remembered faintly he’d imagined something more graceful for their first time after the separation. However, patience was in short supply and Thales was already fully hard and groaned when Agathon grasped him. Agathon wondered briefly if he could have come just hearing that again and again.

Agathon separated himself only enough for Thales to impatiently tear the chiton he wore over his head. Already sitting, Agathon fumbled among their meal, pushed aside a plate and sent a couple of figs rolling as he took hold of the small flask of olive oil and spilled the sluggish golden liquid over his fingers. There had always been enough of this at hand, with them living in an olive grove, and he used to joke that sex was best with the oil Thales made himself. They hadn’t had any olives on the island where he’d been kept. The smell and the memories hit him like a slap. He froze for a moment until Thales’ hands cupped his face.

“Agathon?”

“I was gone too long,” he said.

Thales still looked a little confused, but he gave a firm nod regardless. However, when Agathon reached between his legs, he grabbed his wrist.

“Don’t make me wait.”

Agathon wanted to argue, looked at his half-open mouth and flushed cheeks, failed. He slicked his cock up instead. His hand ran over Thales’ naked thigh, leaving a wet line of oil, as he urged Thales to turn around on his knees and tore off the white cloth tied as underclothes.

Thales in armour had confounded Agathon at first, but bracing himself on his hands, the armoured length of his back displayed, and with his pteruges folded over to reveal his ass, he was a picture painted by the gods themselves to tempt him. Agathon spread his cheeks and lined himself up. He entered him with short, sharp pushes, greeted by the heat of his body, and whenever he tried to get a grip on himself and slow down, Thales urged him on, _go_ , _don’t stop_ , and Agathon went from fully seated to fucking him without a moment’s rest, grabbing bruises into his hips. Thales pushed back against him, greed that was underlined by desperation in his low moans. Agathon went hard, laying claim on his husband again, and at the same time simply rejoicing that he was accepted, allowed back.

He blindly fumbled for Thales cock to stroke him, only just keeping himself from coming, but Thales barely needed the touch and Agathon followed him gladly off that cliff, muttering his name as Thales’ muscles spasmed around him and his body strained and shook loose.

Thales’ arms gave out, then, as Agathon still gathered his breath, and he fell sideways into the sheets, taking Agathon with him. Agathon had to laugh. He wrapped his arm, his leg over Thales’ side, still inside him.

Silence enveloped them, only disturbed by their slowly quieting breath. Thales took Agathon’s hand that laid against his chest, pulled it up to his mouth where he pressed his lips against the pulse point of his wrist. Agathon wondered if Thales was trying to reassure himself that he really was with him alive and well. He dragged his thumb over the scarred skin of Thales’ cheek.

“What happened to your face?” he asked, after a long moment.

“Made a Mylesian general angry when I cut off the ambush with which he was going to turn the battle of the lake vale around,” he murmured. “They held me down and he worked on me with his dagger. I figure my throat was supposed to be the final stroke, but I’m a lot quicker with a sword these days and his soldier went easy on my arms when he figured I was too wounded to defend myself. He was wrong.”

“I hope you killed that general,” Agathon said into Thales’ dark curls.

He’d not fought in the war himself, but he’d built enough resentment and anger to not balk at blood being spilled anymore. The war had hardened them all.

Thales’ hand tightened around Agathon’s, curled it against his lips.

“I did.”

“I want it to be over now. I want that our big, scary watchman only has to chase thieves and brigands out of the village anymore.”

Thales breathed a quiet laugh and Agathon was too proud that he’d managed to wrest one from him.

“Yes. Then I’ll have time to sit on Korinna’s End and watch the waves for you. Maybe I won’t risk her wrath anymore, though. I do want to return home with you. Another cliff might do.”

Agathon backed off a little. He wanted to stay as close as possible, but if they would talk now, perhaps he should be looking Thales in the eyes. When he’d slid out of him, Thales reached over for a sheet to cover Agathon and sat up to unlatch his armour. The pieces fell, revealing more scars, more stories Agathon wanted to hear. He waited for Thales to pull all everything off and set it aside before he returned, thankfully, into Agathon’s reach, allowing Agathon to pull him closer.

“You know, my captors taught me what I always avoided learning from you. If you’d rather keep me here in the orchard while you are on guard duty, I’d understand. You’ve watched the sea for long enough.”

“Come now. Could you really be happy tending to trees?” Thales asked, raising a brow.

Agathon felt the corners of his mouth twitch. “I’d miss the sea, but I’d rather restrict myself to sailing the coastline for fun every now and then than leave you to worry.”

“I think I’ll always worry now as soon as you’ve walked far enough that I can’t see you anymore. At least for a while.” Thales shook his head. “Go back on the water. You’ve missed it. We’ve not had someone to fill your role here. People will be glad to have you, especially now that trade is picking up again. You’ll keep the ships from ripping their hulls on the stones at the coast.”

Agathon hugged him tightly.

“What about you? Will you really be a guardsman now? You didn’t plant any new trees.”

“The kind of olive trees we grow here need time, ten years to give fruit, maybe another five or ten to have a stable yield. I guess I will rely on my sword. It feels like that was more useful lately, anyway.”

And yet, Agathon heard no passion in his voice. Fighting was what Thales had done to protect the village and to pay his way, but plainly he did not love it. Perhaps anything else had seemed futile after seeing century-old olive trees that he’d spent his whole life tending to going up in flames. Agathon would not let him give up, though.

“You should plant something else alongside them, then. You always said the soil would be good for anything here. What trees grow fast?”

“Peaches would take a couple of years,” Thales said slowly. “And figs would be ready to bear fruit in two years with luck, six without. Still, young trees need care and can fail in strong weather. It might take a few tries. I didn’t have the mind for it. You can’t make half the money from them that olives bring, either.”

“I can earn money for us. But I _need_ fresh figs,” Agathon pushed playfully. “You know I always plucked them from the tree in the front yard and I used to take the drying ones out of storage before they were ready. That drove you mad, remember?”

Thales gave a lopsided smile, the only kind his face could now produce.

“Right. I guess I’ll have to raise at least one fig tree, then.”

“Very good.”

Agathon turned on his back, still holding Thales, letting his husband’s head rest on his chest. A bunched-up blanket pressed against his leg. He glanced down at it.

“Do you sleep here?” he asked.

Thales nodded, hand closed to a fist on Agathon’s chest. “I rebuilt the bedroom as it was, down to the colour of the sheets, but then I tried to sleep there without you and it was too empty. I always used to be alone in the big bed before you moved in with me, but now... I got more rest sleeping on the ground.”

“Tomorrow, we’ll strip the dusty sheets and make it our wedding bed again,” Agathon said.

“Yes,” Thales murmured, “if you’re here in the morning and not just a pleasant dream.”

“And you,” Agathon answered. “Please don’t dissipate.”

“I promise,” Thales said as he held him firmly, the answer too stern for Agathon’s teasing tone, but perfect in that.


End file.
